


The Quiet Days are the Longest

by Pholo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pholo makes Shiro cry, vulnerable Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: Shiro breaks down after a long day, and tries to keep Keith out of the loop."There was a small noise—a rustling of sheets and pained breaths—as Shiro lowered himself onto his bed. He arranged himself so that his back was to the wall, and nuzzled down against the sheets. He didn’t bother to pull up the covers; he was content to lay there, the sheets tickling his cheek, and let the cold air give him goosebumps.You’re pathetic."





	The Quiet Days are the Longest

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [ Oldmythos‘](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/pseuds/oldmythologies) fault. Have you read their fic, [I’ll Come Running??](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337239) If not, GO READ IT AND CRY. IT’S AMAZING.

Shiro was shaking.

It was barely perceptible…the kind of thing he could disguise if he kept his arms crossed and stuck to the back of the group. His vision was going wonky too—probably for lack of food and sleep—but at least the day was nearly over. They’d passed another round of talks with their tenuous allies, the Bavelians, and secured a trade route on the fringes of the Contaur region—a successful day, all things considered. They hadn’t even had to form Voltron.

Yet Shiro couldn’t seem to blink the haze from his eyes. A strange pressure in his head was pulling his attention around like a river eddie. As Allura ran through tomorrow’s schedule, his thoughts drifted to darker places:

_You’re tired now? From what? All you did was stand around and talk about trade routes today._

Shiro let out a slow breath through his nose. He curled his flesh fingers into his palm, trying to ground himself with the familiar texture of his glove.

_It’s always going to be like this. This war could take years—decades. You need to pull yourself together—figure out how to deal with this now—or you’re going to put the team at risk._

Shiro gritted his teeth. He yanked on the reigns of his mind, directing his attention back to Allura. She appeared to be wrapping up their meeting, powering down the monitor she’d been using as a display. Shiro was cognizant enough to register her dismissal; he nodded once, not trusting himself to speak, and turned for the door.

The journey to Shiro’s room was mostly lost on him. He was aware of the marble pillars passing one by one; of the echo of his footsteps against the floor…the cool press of a screen as he aligned his palm with the scanner at his door. There was a hiss, and the metal slid open. Shiro stepped over the threshold. Then, as the door closed behind him, his knees buckled. He fell back against the wall, and managed to stay upright by some miracle of strength. For a while he huddled there, unable to straighten. He tracked the tiny hiss of his own breath—

In two three four, out two three four.

—and slowly raised his fingers to the edge of the door. Without the light from the hallway, the darkness was absolute, and he had to puzzle around for the light switch. There was a panel for the night lights alongside the one for the overheads, but once Shiro found them, he realized he didn’t want to turn them on. There was safety in this gloom. No one could see him fall apart this way.

_Why are you so upset? It was a good day. You should be grateful. Tomorrow’ll only be worse._

Shiro steeled himself. He needed to get to bed. His hands strayed from the light panel, and moved to peel off his boots. Normally he would dress down further—find his tank top, at least—but tonight he left his usual civilian clothes on. He slunk across the room, slowing when he neared the alcove so he didn’t hurt himself, and patted around until he found his mattress.

There was a small noise—a rustling of sheets and pained breaths—as Shiro lowered himself onto his bed. He arranged himself so that his back was to the wall and nuzzled down against the sheets. He didn’t bother to pull up the covers; he was content to lay there, the sheets tickling his cheek, and let the cold air give him goosebumps.

_You’re pathetic._

Shiro closed his eyes, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to sleep. The heat behind his eyes kept him awake.

_What are you, five? You’re a goddamn soldier. You got your arm ripped off. Why are you crying over a successful meeting? Today was easy!_

Shiro felt his fingers twitch around the sheets. A tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek.

The quiet stretched on for a long time. Shiro lay on his side and let himself cry. The darkness was all around him, gentle but cold on his skin. He waited for sleep to claim him—for some reprieve from the tears.

_You need to step down. If this is you on a good day, what’s gonna’ happen the next time there’s an actual crisis? You’re a danger to the team._

There was a knock at the door. Shiro’s thoughts tripped over themselves, alarmed. A voice filtered through the metal door:

“Shiro?”

Fuck. His heavy limbs were forgotten: Shiro felt himself spasm up from the bed. He stumbled across the room, to the desk where he kept a box of space-grade tissues. “Keith?” he said, as normally as he could manage. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I actually wanted to ask how you were doing.”

Shiro found the box of tissues. He said, “Oh, well. I’m fine,” and blew his nose as discreetly as possible. “Thank you, though.”

Keith wasn’t convinced. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Just…a little tired.” He found the trash depositor and threw away the tissue.

There was a pause. Keith hovered outside his room; Shiro thought he could make out his shadow under the door, where a tiny sliver of light crossed the floor.

“Okay,” Keith conceded. He sounded lost. “G'night, Shiro. See you tomorrow.”

Shiro felt his shoulders droop with—what? Relief, yes, but also a pang of disappointment. “Good night, Keith.”

_Stupid. You aren’t his responsibility. Just be glad he trusts you enough to leave you alone._

Shiro sighed. His eyes stung from crying. He reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, hoping to relieve the pressure in his sinuses. He listened as Keith’s footsteps retreated down the hallway; once the silence resumed, he took a couple spare tissues back with him to bed.

He’d resumed his position along the wall, face turned against the sheets, when the sound of footfall made him tense.

Keith? Again?

Shiro's brow furrowed. He heard a last clap of boots as Keith positioned himself outside his door. He spoke with a determined edge:

“Can I come in?”

Shiro swallowed.

_No. Tell him to go away. He can’t see you like this._

Shiro forced the words out: “I’m really fine, Keith.”

“No you’re not.” A beat. “If you want me to leave, I will—but you’ll have to ask.”

_Go away go away go away. He’ll only make things worse._

“I’m not…”

_Do you want him to feel sorry for you? Do you want him to worry about you? Do you really want to put this on him?_

Acceptance. Defeat. “All right. You can—yeah. Sure. Door’s unlocked.” Shiro felt dizzy with the weight of the words.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

And so the door slid open. Keith stood in the doorway, dressed in his casual clothes, the mussed strands of his hair catching the light from the hallway. Shiro blinked against the glare. There were footsteps, and a whoosh as the door clicked closed.

In the resulting gloom, Keith said,

“Can I turn on the night lights…?”

Shiro didn’t want him to. He wanted to draw the darkness up like a cocoon around him and sleep for a thousand years.

“Sure,” he managed. There were fresh tears on his face.

A pause as Keith assessed his tone. Shiro had sounded strangled; stretched thin. Finally there was a click, and a blue color bloomed out of the dark. The lights came on along the walls of Shiro’s room, and Keith was made visible once more, this time dyed blue by their hue—not neon, but the color of distant stars. His gaze found Shiro on the bed—and for a moment he looked heartbroken.

_See what you’ve done?_

“Look,” Shiro began. This was damage control: he knew, with his blotched cheeks and ruffled clothes, he was a goner. “I probably look like shit…I don’t know what’s wrong, honestly. I’m just having a bit of a—day. I’m tired; I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll be fine.”

That only seemed to make things worse. “Has this happened before?”

“It’s silly. I don’t want you to worry about me—”

“I always worry about you,” Keith said. Shiro watched as his fingers twitched at his sides. “Would you—has it ever occurred to you that I might worry less if you just told me when it got this bad? So I wouldn’t have to think you're hiding stuff from me?”

Shiro stared down at the sheets. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because this—” A hiccup as Shiro choked back a sob. The mattress blurred beneath his hands. “This keeps happening. It’s just happening so often and I can't—I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to put that on you. I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to stop being this bad and I…”

And suddenly—contact. Shiro hadn’t even registered Keith’s approach; he felt his breath catch as hands found his back—as he was pulled forward against a warm chest.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. “I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s okay.”

Shiro resisted for a moment. Then, with no room for escape, he sagged against Keith’s torso. He couldn’t find the strength to raise his arms, so he sat there on the bed, cradled against Keith’s chest with his friends’ arms wound around his back.

A long while passed like that. It was so warm with Keith wrapped around him. Shiro could almost picture them back at the shack, the night they’d fallen asleep together on Shiro’s air mattress. They’d woken to a sunbaked room that smelled of dust and books, tangled up with Shiro’s head pillowed on Keith’s chest. The memory gave Shiro the strength to raise his hand now, thousands of lightyears from their sun. He pressed his palm to Keith’s chest, and let himself be comforted by the thrum of his heartbeat.

“God, Shiro,” Keith murmured. His hand traced a circle down his shoulder blade; along the line of his spine. “You’re shaking like a leaf…It’s okay. It’s okay, love.”

The tears retuned, then. Keith’s name trembled out of him like a sob, and Keith made a broken noise. His fingers splayed out along his back.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “I’ve always got you. I want to be there no matter how many times this happens, okay?”

“It wasn’t even…” Shiro tried to laugh, but the sound came out twisted. “It was a normal day. It was supposed to be fine…”

“It’s all right. This stuff doesn’t follow a schedule.”

“I don't…” Shiro buried his face back against Keith’s shoulder. “Christ, Keith…I’m so tired…”

“I know. I know.” He established the barest distance between them as he shuffled around on the bed. “There. Come on. Let’s get you to sleep…”

With a hand on his shoulder, Keith guided Shiro down against the mattress. He fumbled a bit with the twisted sheets, then pulled them up to their shoulders as he burrowed down beside him. Before the fabric could settle over their torsos, he threw an arm across Shiro’s back. Their chests brushed, and Shiro felt his eyes fall closed. There was a gentle pressure on Shiro’s head as Keith rested his chin there; a tingle as his fingers found the nape of his neck.

Shiro couldn’t help but smile. A sigh shuddered out of him; he was still pretty congested, but the tears seemed to have stopped. The bed felt softer than usual, the world gentler. It was like he’d been tangled up inside, and Keith had unravelled him all at once. He felt light enough to float away.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, before he could drift off. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

Keith huffed; Shiro’s smile widened at how his chest hitched at the sound. “I don’t actually know what I’m doing, so that's—good to hear.”

“You’re perfect,” Shiro assured him. Keith tensed up at that, and Shiro backtracked: “Sorry.”

“No, I—” Keith paused. Shiro could feel him work through the words as his chest rose and fell. “Did I call you ‘love’ earlier?”

The lump returned to Shiro’s throat.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Well. Now you know, I guess.” Another long moment of silence. Keith’s hand drifted down Shiro’s shirt. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Shiro. I wasn’t going to tell you. And this was the worst possible time and—you know. I can leave—”

“It’s okay.” With the bravado that could only come from half-sleep, Shiro nuzzled against Keith’s chest. “Not unless you want to.”

Keith’s fingers were gentle along Shiro’s back. He found the raised skin of a scar through his shirt and placed his palm atop it, as though to shield it from further damage.

“Of course I don’t want to.” His voice was barely audible, even so close. “Thought I’d made that clear.”

Shiro could only lay there, so overwhelmed by love and gratefulness he thought his heart would burst.

“Okay,” he croaked.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Shiro brought his arm around over Keith’s side. Keith let out a long breath. He held Shiro close, like he was something beautiful and treasured—and Shiro shifted up against the sheets, enough to press a kiss to Keith’s collarbone.

“Goodnight, love.”

Keith frizzled up with surprise. Shiro wanted to giggle, but simply grinned against Keith’s skin. He let his head fall back against the bed, on the very precipice of sleep.

The last thing he felt before he drifted off was a kiss to the crown of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic borrows from some of my other stories as well (particularly my most recent one) but whO CARES! The more hugs Shiro gets, the better. 
> 
> Here's [my playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/cushfuddled/playlist/4fnzX1xcLtD7yeEjGLie1L) for Keith and Shiro helping each other through trauma btw!
> 
> Come yell with me [on Tumblr](http://mighty-trash.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> [Buy me a Ko-fi?](https://ko-fi.com/I2I45DT9)


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